From the Ashes
by Written-Infinities
Summary: The nuclear reactors have gone off, leaving the ground uninhabitable for five years. Through this series of one shots, you find out if relationships last, if grief can heal, and if the dead have truly left.
1. 001: Wanheda

**001: Wanheda**

 _You never think the world is going to end until it does, until fire rises up, takes hold of the trees and swallows them whole._

 _You never think the world is going to end until you're dangling from a satellite tower and realize your life is over._

 _Not now, but in five minutes._

 _Four minutes._

 _Three._

 _And you run, praying for any chance of survival, but also knowing you did what you could to save those you loved._

 _Thanks to you, they will make it to the Ark and if all goes well, they will survive. They're resourceful with Raven's brain and Monty's determination. They're strong with Emori's and Murphy's cunning nature. They have Bellamy's heart, an organ so big and beautiful; it's hard to know how it fits inside his chest. Even Echo has a guiding will despite the problems she caused. But those were for her people._

Every clan tried to save their people and that is something Clarke knows all too well, that Clarke has fought for ever since reaching the ground. Her problems were simpler then, after confirming the radiation wouldn't kill them and they would have enough to eat. She never thought radiation would reappear, rear its ugly head and whisper in her ear "Your fight is over."

She knows her time is coming up as her legs pump as hard as they can go and she's closer to the lab, the lab that could not save her or her friends, but provided an escape for them. If the satellite had worked with Raven's instructions, she would have made it back in ten minutes.

But time, time is rarely on her side. And she knows she has overcome bigger foes. She knows she has survived grounders and mountain men and A.L.I.E. but this is it. The sky is a weapon. Trees continue to be eaten alive, falling and crumbling with their sound snuffed out. Her skin is burning, pain shooting up and down every inch.

Her body is betraying her. It is heavy and breaking. Her hand slams against the metal entrance of the lab and she is ready to stumble, to give up.

Except-she doesn't. She's a fighter. Her friends would want her to keep going for as long as she could.

She does not want to die. No one ever does and no one wants to talk about the slight glimmer of fear and hope in their eyes as they do. It's too much to give death a face, to call it by name.

She enters the lab. Her vision spins and it feels like flames are licking every ounce of exposed flesh. Her chest is tight, a chord wrapped around her lungs. Before she knows it, she's falling, colliding with a table on the way down which does nothing to help the cacophony of pain rising and swelling like the verse of a song.

Clarke reaches a hand out for purchase. She's not sure what she grabs, but it's cold and slick and it holds her up for a second. Her fingers slip and it's then she sees the scarlet trail left behind.

She's bleeding. She's bleeding. She's _bleeding_.

The fire is closer. This is it. The front of the lab is gone, seared like a piece of paper.

Her thoughts go to her mom, Kane, Octavia, and the people from every clan who are in the bunker. Her thoughts go to her friends in space, hoping her actions gave them life. Her thoughts cycle through the series of her choices. She has never believed in an afterlife, in a place that is not the present, but she hopes her actions do not lead her somewhere bad.

 _"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things."_

 _Yes, yes they are_. And she hopes it's known. She hopes there is something left in her that's good.

Clarke's eyes fall shut and the pain grows into a full-fledged chorus. Agonizing, smothering, and then nothing at all.

…

She wakes, but it's not like waking up from a good night's sleep. It's like waking up from anesthesia, uncertain of where she is with weighted limbs, a dry mouth, and a stomach ready to heave the contents it doesn't have.

Above her is the sky, dark and starless.

Below her is tile, warm from her body lying on it for who knows how long.

Her first conclusion is she had a bad dream and she is in Arcadia, having fallen asleep for way longer than she intended.

Reality knocks sense into her with a churning stomach. Saliva tinged with scarlet splatters across the floor. She makes a measly attempt at brushing her hair from her face, but some of the mixture gets caught in the strands.

Clarke reclines on her elbows when she's done, gasping for air that can't come quick enough. Her breathing starts to calm and one conclusion nearly sends it spiraling out of control once more.

 _I'm alive._

She forces herself to her feet and takes in the lab which is the bare bones of its original structure. Metal and steel torn apart, whipped away.

Stretched before her are the ruins of the Earth. No green remains. No trees. The dirt is dark and cracked. Smoke rises in clouds from a variety of locations, no longer orange and raging, but calm, filled to its capacity for years.

This is the end of the world and for some reason or another, it hasn't claimed her. Clarke racks her brain for an answer, but it's sluggish. She remembers A.L.I.E's warning and she remembers the deal with Ice Nation, and she remembers Luna, and she remembers—

Nightblood.

She bore the choice so no one else would have to and it worked.

Elation floods through her veins, stronger than any shot of adrenaline ever could. She needs to tell the others. She needs to tell her mom. They could save everyone.

 _There's no one to save._ The finality slams into her like bricks. The world's people are hopefully still alive in the bunker and her friends are farther than she could ever get to. Clarke is alone and she will be for five years until everyone can resurface.

Two options present themselves. She can waste the cure she has been given. Weep until there are no more tears and find a way to die. Or she can do what she's been programmed to do: live.

Clarke steps forward. Her feet are too loud in a world that is _too_ quiet.

But hope breaks through, no matter how out of reach it may seem. Five years and she can see everyone again. Five years and it will be worth it.

A smile curves on her lips, tentative, careful, because the last thing she should be doing is this. It doesn't dim. It guides her forward, a body slow and racketed with pain. She's going to need food and water and it's possible there will be none to find and no one will ever know that Clarke Griffin did not die from radiation.

She will, however, try.


	2. 002: King

**002: King**

He holds a bottle of vodka in his hand, letting his thumb glide over the smooth casing. It has been on the Ark for who knows how long, an item not lost to the destruction of a place that used to be his home.

He uses this term loosely for he spent most of his time on the Ark as an obedient pawn, all to protect his little sister. She gave his existence purpose.

 _"Your sister, your responsibility."_ His mother's words never leave his head. Sometimes, they are quiet and other times, they roar. The latter is how he finds them now as he stares at the ruined Earth from the window and hopes Octavia is alright.

Stars stretch along a black canvas, unaware of what happened to the Earth which Bellamy has a good view of: the blue and green hues stolen by an angry red. It looks exactly like Mars, except the wounds to its surface are fresh.

Bellamy knows he has to pull himself together for the five years that are to come, for the challenges they will most likely face. He cannot break apart despite the horrible weight on his chest. He cannot break apart because he has to see his sister. He cannot break apart because Clarke sacrificed her life to save not only his, but the others as well.

 _Clarke._

The name stings and it inches him close to opening the bottle of vodka and chugging it until his feelings dissipate, until he can sleep with no dreams and no fears. But he has to be better than this. He lowers the bottle to the ground and focuses on the Earth, on the woman he aches for. They had come a long way from when they first landed on the ground. They hated each other, people on opposing sides of a spectrum.

Time showed them otherwise. Time showed them they would become a team.

Bellamy doesn't know if he can do this without her. There are significantly less people to watch over, but they still look up to him, still expect him to be a leader despite the fact he is sinking. He rubs at his eyes with fists until colored spots appear in his vision.

He can do this. He has to.

But Clarke should be here with him. He remembers tightening the straps around his body in the rocket. He remembers Raven imputing where they needed to go. He remembers the seconds slipping between his fingers. He remembers when they could no longer wait and the rocket jarred to life, taking them away.

Guilt is a terrible thing. It seeps into one's blood and turns it black. It makes it thick and heavy until one is consumed by how horrible they feel, how horrible they are. Though Bellamy knows Clarke would have wanted it this way. Their lives for hers.

The pair of them spent so much effort trying to prevent and mediate Praimfaya: arguing about who would be on the list, how it would go with the grounders, how they would sustain themselves. This wasn't like before when their problems were controllable. This was nature telling them it was the end.

Bellamy wishes he could have told Clarke so many things, how much he cared for her, how much she mattered, how he would do anything to protect her in the same way he would protect his sister. And yet, the words are left with him and him alone. He had his chance before the final tasks for launch were given. There is no way to have the opportunity again.

He presses his back against the nearest wall. He is tired, but unable to sleep. It shows in the dark circles under his eyes. It shows when he accidentally nods off only to be awoken by his grief and what needs to be done.

The door to the lookout swishes open and Bellamy straightens, shoulders rolling back.

Raven takes the wall opposite of him, offering a tight lipped smile that is both understanding and sympathetic. "You can't hide here forever."

"I know." His gaze lifts to meet hers and he notes that she too has the symptoms of exhaustion on her face.

She looks out the window, arms folding over her chest. "I never thought we'd be back here."

"Me either. I didn't think there was anything to go back to."

"I always find a way, don't I?"

"You do. I've never doubted you, Raven. Neither has anyone else." He attempts a smile, but the action is too out of place and it falls immediately.

There's a pause and Raven's brows furrow. "Bellamy, none of this is your fault. C…Clarke would have wanted us here, wanted this."

He nods. This realization does nothing to console him for it's her presence he yearns for, the tone of her voice, the way he could make out her hair in a crowd. They were not the best people after finding out the nuclear reactors would collapse, but they tried. It was all they ever did. "I just hate thinking that she died in such a horrible way for us, for me."

Raven closes the distance between them. Her hands squeeze his shoulders firmly. "I don't know when it's going to get easier for you. I wish I did. After Finn died, it felt like everything faded to black and white, that my whole sense of purpose left with him. I was angry and scared and lonely, but it did get easier. It lingers and some days, it's worse than others, but I would take it over the ignorance I had when A.L.I.E was in my head. We need pain to survive."

Her scream on the day Finn died rang in Bellamy's ears for a while afterwards. He had never seen Raven vulnerable until that moment where she collapsed into him, a mess of rickety sobs. He is aware of how far she has come and all she's accomplished since. She is the strongest person out of their group, but she is not the one Bellamy needs. She is not the one that shattered his heart into pieces he's not sure he wants to pick up.

"How do you know every kind of pain is survivable?"

"I don't, but I know you and I know what you're capable of."

"I think you have more faith in me than I do." Bellamy chuckles, but it's a bitter sound. He wonders if he'll laugh again and if he'll mean it. He wonders when the monochromatic view, like Raven described, will fade.

"Maybe, but I'm usually accurate with my hypotheses." She finally releases him and takes a few steps back.

She doesn't leave and shows no signs of doing so which Bellamy is grateful for. Being alone is both a relief and a curse. He can have his thoughts in private, but they are not the forgiving kind. "I miss her," he admits.

"I do too. We always looked up to Clarke to save the day and she did it in the biggest way she could." The steadiness of Raven's tone wavers.

"I wish I could have done something differently, said something, other than thinking it would all work out. I was an idiot." He buries his face in his hands, but does not allow the long overdue tears to escape. He clenches his jaw until the desire passes.

Raven doesn't say anything until he has himself together again and he respects her for it. That thread connects them, the need to be braver, composed, _whole_. "Whatever you have to tell her, do it. Write it down. Say it on the radio. Repeat it in your head. Do what you need to do Bellamy because you may not understand why or how, but we need you here."

He doesn't have a clue as to if it will help, but he has no alternative. He can't find Clarke and ask her for forgiveness. The only way to heal is to do it himself. "The radio, it works?"

"Monty and I got it working this morning. The lines are filled with silence, but I feel better having it than not. Do you want me to get it for you?"

Bellamy shakes his head as he notices Raven shifting her weight from her right leg to the left. "No, I'll get it. Just tell me where."

"The old storage room."

"Thanks." He heads to the exit, waiting until Raven is behind him before sliding them open. Whereas she veers to the left, he veers to the right finding the room easily. Once inside, he toys with the receiver, pressing the button on and off. There's nothing to fear, no one to hear him. Clarke is gone and the world has been silenced.

"Hi, Clarke." He inhales, letting every ounce of air fill his lungs. "I don't know what happened down there, why you weren't able to get to the rocket in time, but I wish…I wish you could be here. It's not the same without you and I don't know how I'm going to do this without you. I am who I am because you fought for me in a way no one else did." His fingers shake and he doesn't know when that started, at the beginning of the speech or just now. "I would say thank you, but that doesn't seem right. I can't thank you for dying. I can't be happy about it. I…I hope that whatever happened, it didn't hurt."

Bellamy pauses as the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He has to say this. He can't be a coward. "I love you, Clarke."

He hears the other line crackle, but that's not possible. There's no one left on the ground that isn't sealed away inside the bunker. It's confirmed as the noise vanishes a second later. It is a trick of the mind, a lie.

He places the receiver back, and in the quiet, he lets himself feel.


	3. 003: Skairipa

**003: Skairipa**

She stands with her palms pressed into the desk. Though the wood will likely leave imprints on her skin, she doesn't care. It's been nearly two weeks and she doesn't know whether her brother is alive or dead, whether anyone made it to space or if they perished to the flames that devoured their world. Octavia hadn't seen the destruction, but she felt it. The bunker rattled and the ground rumbled overhead. There was a brief fear, a whisper in her mind that their defenses would not hold. All of this fighting and dying for _nothing_.

Jus drein, jus daun.

But she has grown weary of this lifestyle and while sealed inside the reinforced walls, there can be no fighting. There can only be peace or the human race will be gone. Octavia anticipates problems. Skaikru has not been kind, nor has Trikru. It is a miracle they've lasted this long together, not divided, like Octavia believes she is. A woman not belonging to one home, but two, or perhaps, falling somewhere in between.

Her eyes float to the door which has remained shut for the last hour. It is how she demanded it, unless chaos erupts. She needs time to think, to become the leader everyone expects her to be. She doesn't have Clarke's intuition or tactics of negotiation. She doesn't have Bellamy's compassion and persistence. She has what she's always had: stubbornness and the ability to drive a weapon into someone's throat.

If Octavia can command fear, there is nothing to be afraid of.

Though she realizes the only reason a hundred people from each clan survived is because of her. There is something worth listening to. She can do this. No. She _must_ do this.

Octavia finally removes her hands from the desk and smooths back a few stray hairs that have fallen out from her braid. The food and water have been rationed. Everyone has been assigned a bed. The generators are working at full capacity.

Everything is fine and yet she can't stop wishing for her brother, for the Earth's surface to be habitable. She spent all of her life tucked beneath a floor, trapped in a room. Coming to the ground gave her a taste of freedom, something she drank up and will have to wait five years for again. A lot can go wrong in five years.

There's a knock and Octavia straightens. She pushes every doubt to the back of her mind. "Yes?"

"It's Indra."

Her voice doesn't contain any traces of worry, of panic and for that, Octavia is grateful. "Come in."

The entrance parts and Indra steps in, looking no less of a warrior than she always is. It is a trait Octavia admires and tries to emulate. If it wasn't for Indra, she would likely be dead. If it wasn't for Indra, she would likely not know who she is. "Is anything wrong?" She asks, because she needs the confirmation. She needs to know it's okay to relax.

"No. I just wanted to see how you're doing. Not hearing from your brother has taken a toll on you and while others may not be able to see it, I want you to know that I do."

Octavia exhales, a quick rush of breath through tight lips. "I don't want to talk about this. There are hundred other things to be concerned with. I can't be distracted."

"And yet, you will be until you have proof or are shown otherwise." Indra double-checks that the door is pulled shut, then shortens the distance between them. She stands before Octavia, her chin practically chiseled from glass along with her cheek bones. Octavia has only see Indra cry once and it had been for her daughter. It had been for flesh and blood.

"I want to know what happened," Octavia murmurs, almost as if saying the words will make her sadness tangible. "The plan was risky, but knowing Raven, they should have made it. The coms have been entirely dead, though that can probably be factored into the settling destruction."

"Most likely. It is also not certain what is left in space."

"If Raven is there, she'll find a way. Hell, if my brother is there, he's working on it." He always protected her. She came first in his world, despite being unplanned. What makes her heart swell the most is Bellamy never complained. He simply took on the role of big brother and never once looked back.

"I don't doubt that. Your brother stopped a full out war between the grounders and Skaikru." Indra's mouth curls up into a small smile.

"Do you think…do you think they made it?" She seeks out Indra's gaze and locks onto it. Octavia forces herself to not give anything away, to not show too much weakness. There is no room for it here.

"Time will be the only way to tell. However, I came with a proposal, a way to take your mind off of things." Indra reaches behind her and slides a sword from its sheath. She extends it to Octavia, the blade reflecting some of the light from above.

"You want me to fight?" Octavia grips the weapon by the handle, taking in its weight and adjusting her stance accordingly.

"I want you to train. I want you to clear your mind. Physical strength and skillset are only half the battle." Indra pushes the desk to the far corner of the room, freeing up the center for her suggested activity. She withdraws a matching sword and beckons Octavia forward with the wave of her hand.

Octavia hesitates and that is her mistake. Indra launches, the sword barreling for her head. She reacts and the metal clashes together.

Indra doesn't do anything to hide her smirk.

A spark lights in Octavia and she swings the sword towards Indra's side. The woman blocks it and the dance continues. Up. Clang. Down. Clang. Left. Clang. Right. Clang. Octavia's muscles begin to throb. Her heart speeds up. Sweat drips from her brow to the creases between her lips. The exertion is familiar and for the duration of the battle, Octavia forgets.

She is not useless.

She will see Bellamy again.

She will survive and so will everyone else.

The battle ends as their swords lock in an x formation and Octavia pushes all of her anger out. Indra's weapon falls and so does the woman. She rolls and is up on her feet in seconds. "Well done, Octavia."

Octavia drops her sword to the floor and sucks in enough air to refill what her lungs have used. "No, thank you."

Indra tucks her blade back where it belongs and does not touch the other. "Keep it for when I come knocking again."

She nods and watches Indra exit the office, leaving her alone with her thoughts once more. But they aren't as heavy. They float in her mind like wispy tendrils from the edges of a cigarette. She rearranges the room so it resembles what it was before Indra arrived and lowers into the chair. The radio sits before her, quiet, empty. She remembers speaking to her brother the day the reactors collapsed. She remembers the tone of his voice.

She remembers _him_.

"Will all inhabitants please make their way to the main hall for today's food distribution?" Abby's voice over the speakers of the bunker startles Octavia for a brief moment, but she knows it's her cue. _Keep an eye out. Make sure no one does anything irrational._

Octavia rises and steps out into the main hall where about a dozen individuals are already gathered. She spots Abby at the head of the line with a large container stuffed to the brim with wrapped goods and bottles of water. Octavia takes her place beside her. Two grounders take position at her sides, insisted upon by Indra.

"Has there been any news?" The ground has aged her, more so in the last two weeks as she yearns for Clarke.

"Nothing," Octavia replies with a shake of her head. "But knowing Raven, it won't be much longer."

Abby nods, but her uncertainty remains present.

Octavia ignores it for now as she reaches into the bin and pulls out the first ration. "Step forward," she says and a woman by the name of Isadora does. She quietly thanks Octavia and heads in the direction of where the beds are.

This continues for about an hour and it is while handing out packets of food that Octavia recognizes how many people are counting on her, how many people need a figurehead to combat the chaos.

That is what Bellamy and Clarke were. No matter if they failed or barked orders or did something disagreeable, most supported them. Because this job is not for everyone.

This job is for her.


End file.
